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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245983">I've walked a fragile line and I've fallen down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeandquartz/pseuds/jadeandquartz'>jadeandquartz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dimension 20 (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Campaign: A Crown of Candy, Emotional Repression, Fuck the Bulbian Church, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Threat/Discussion of Execution, a not-insignificant amount of swearing, borrowing that tag because I’d really love it to catch on, grammatically incorrect usage of Latin, liberal interpretations of the Find Familiar spell, please enjoy a 17k canon-divergent fic in these dark times</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:47:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeandquartz/pseuds/jadeandquartz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Anger is burning in Lapin’s chest. It is bitter, and it is bloody, and it shines brighter than any Bulb the church might care to invent.</p><p>Normally, he leaves his emotions be. He cannot afford to let feelings drive him forwards. Remaining logical is the only safe way to play the game of politics - and if you do not play it safe, you die. And if you die, then what was the point?</p><p>But nothing about their predicament is <i>normal</i>. So, fuck playing the game safely. <i>Fuck</i> that. </p><p>The world will not play safe with the lives of those he loves. </p><p>***</p><p>In which Belizabeth Brassica is looking for a heretic, and Lapin confesses to his apostasy to protect the House of Rocks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lapin Cadbury &amp; Liam Wilhelmina, Lapin Cadbury &amp; Ruby Rocks, Lapin Cadbury &amp; The House of Rocks, Lapin Cadbury &amp; Theobald Gumbar, this isn’t really a ship fic but there are Lapin/Theo undertones within</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>210</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I've walked a fragile line and I've fallen down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Find me on tumblr @jadeandquartzes! </p><p>Inspiration for the first scene and general narrative tone of this fic comes from @nonbinarywithaknife’s wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23851885">"the holy roman empire roots for you</a>, which I highly recommend everyone go read. </p><p>Title is from “Heretic” by Avenged Sevenfold, which has been my go-to Lapin song for a week and a half.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The universe is a mindless place, despite whatever the church wants people to believe. It hosts no Hungry One corrupting souls, no infinite Bulb to judge them all.</p><p>But, Lapin decides, this does not stop it from having a <em> cruel </em>sense of humor. </p><p>“We are <em>all </em>going to die,” he growls, pressed up against the side of the carriage for shelter. The once-peaceful copse of trees along the Sucrosi Road has splintered into a roaring hellmouth of war. Blood, sweat and rotting cheese clog the air. He’s already spent half of his limited heals yanking Princess Ruby back from the edge of death - and, <em>of course</em>, combat is only growing worse as the seconds tick by.</p><p>Thirty feet away, King Amethar rages, his pop-rock aura eating away at all in range. He fights beside a bloodied and bruised Sir Theobald, who deflects and redirects fatal attacks off his shield. A deadly and unrelenting hail of arrows rains down on them from the left-hand side of the road, where bandit archers lie in wait. Well - they are certainly more than just <em> bandits, </em>that much is clear, but that is a problem for later.</p><p>Occasionally the sounds of the arrows are punctuated with a lighter <em>thwap, </em> as sharp bolts of peppermint streak into the fray and explode on impact<em>. Liam Wilhelmina, </em>Lapin thinks, and is begrudgingly grateful that the Count of Freezyburg had enough foresight to fight from a safe hiding place. </p><p>Unfortunately, Princess Jet, who must be harboring a heretofore-unknown <em> death wish, </em> has no such presence of mind <em> . </em>Not half a minute after attempting to blackmail him, Lapin sees the heir to the Candian throne sprint into the very center of combat with the Twizzling Blade unsheathed. Jet whoops with glee as she stabs deep into the nearest bandit, covering her sword in oozing milk and cheese. Lapin honestly wishes he had been knocked out when the attack started, if only so he wouldn’t have to watch the princess play at war. </p><p><em> “Boldness will be required in the days to come,” O powerful one?  </em>he spits at the Sugar Plum Fairy in the back of his mind. <em> And yet, with all your power, you could not have told me to simply take a different road to Comida?  </em></p><p>Predictably - infuriatingly - there is no response. </p><p>Oh, how he hates her. </p><p><em> Enough </em>. If he doesn’t get involved now, things will only worsen further, and break beyond the point of no repair. Lapin painstakingly picks his way across the battle towards King Amethar. He arrives just as the king drops heavily to the ground, the third time he has fallen in as many minutes.Two snarling dairy bandits run full-tilt at his body, weapons raised to attack. </p><p>Amethar’s eyes are closed, his head lolling limply to one side. His armor is already riddled by half a dozen burned arrows. It looks bad. <em> Extremely </em>bad. But the Sugar Plum Fairy is not being particularly generous with her healing capabilities today, so Lapin opts to step astride the king’s body and risk an eldritch blast instead. A dangerous move. Potentially, a fatal move. </p><p>Heart thumping double-time, Lapin swallows down the panic, muttering the incantation as quietly as he can. </p><p>
  <em> “Cantus dulcis. Cantus fortis.” </em>
</p><p>Despite his best efforts to be subtle, he can feel his eyes flare purple. And - of fucking <em> course </em> - a sugar-plum rune dances into existence, bright and <em> obvious, </em>on the base of his palm. Raw arcane magic crackles from his outstretched paw and finds its target. One of the bandits melts, dissolving into a puddle with a distressingly loud shriek. </p><p>“Ah, yes. For - for Bulbia!” Lapin proclaims weakly, for the benefit of anyone that gives a damn about church protocol in the midst of the chaos. He grimaces at how saccharine and false the words are. “For Bulbia. This is very holy indeed.” There will have to be <em> several </em> conversations about discretion with the princesses later today, assuming they survive long enough to be lectured. </p><p>Sir Theobald swings Battlepop at the second bandit a moment later, engaging him in melee, and Lapin silently thanks the knight for preventing the need for another eldritch blast. He bends down, burns a heal, brings King Amethar gasping back to consciousness once more, and looks warily at the road and the fight and the trees. More bandits could be here at any moment. The next volley of arrows is surely only seconds away.</p><p>It is only by the lingering light of his eldritch blast that Lapin suddenly spots movement behind the royal carriages. His ears twitch at the patter of hasty footsteps - someone dashing unseen past one of the panicked meeps. Lapin’s flesh crawls, and he summons another precious wisp of eldritch energy to his palm, prepares to melt the next bandit into a soil-stained puddle of sugar. </p><p>But a moment later, the movement reveals itself to be Princess Ruby. Sour Scratch strapped to her back, the princess hoists herself up onto the top of the carriage and balances thirty feet off the ground, the very same place she practiced those <em> foolish </em>handstands only minutes before. Her own blood has stained the ridiculous frills on her circus costume. Vivid drops of red are caught in her eyelashes and smeared through her hair; a bloody welt still puckers the skin on her neck. She looks terrified and terrifying. A newly risen corpse, fresh from the grave.</p><p>Far in the distance, a trumpet blare cuts through the discordant clashing of swords. Lapin whips his head around. Sunlight glints off five, ten, twenty Imperial crests making their way through the trees. <em> Finally, fucking finally. </em>They might actually have a chance, if Imperial escorting forces can get here in time.</p><p>The soldiers are sprinting towards them, he sees now. But they are still so, so far away; they can only run so fast. There is a decent chance that the entire Rocks family will still be dead before they arrive. </p><p>He glances back at Ruby, perched atop the carriage, and frowns. It looks like she’s trying to tell him something. Her lips move soundlessly, but Lapin cannot tell what she is doing, cannot understand what she is trying to say - </p><p>Ruby steps back, takes a running leap and <em> vaults </em>off the carriage, spreading her arms wide as she falls. Time slows to a crawl, the space between one heartbeat and the next. </p><p>Lapin realizes, much too late, that the words Ruby was muttering were not meant for him. He is horrifyingly aware of the Imperial army - sixty feet away, about to break through the trees - and he watches, helpless, as purple sparks of arcane magic start to crackle in the air around the princess.</p><p><em> They will kill her for this </em> . Even if the soldiers do not realize that the magic originates with the Princess, they will realize that it is <em> magic. </em>And someone will die. </p><p>And there will be absolutely <em> nothing </em>Lapin can do to stop it. </p><p>Ruby hits the ground, rolls head over heels, and gracefully springs to her feet. Rich purple mist billows from her palms, shrouding the trees in twinkling smoke. The copse, littered with combatants and casualties a moment before, is now a dark sea of dust motes and hazy silhouettes. </p><p>Lapin lets himself waste a precious second to hiss every curse word he knows - at the universe, at the Sugar Plum Fairy, at <em>himself</em>, for his fucking carelessness in letting this happen. Then he bends down and hoists the gasping King Amethar to his feet, pushing him towards the safety of the carriages. “<em>Come</em> <em>on</em>, my lord. You’re not dying today.”</p><p>The Imperial forces shift the tide of the battle within a minute. The furious sounds of combat fade with the fog, and are replaced by the shrill victory songs of the Tartguard. Somehow, Lapin notes, not a single one of the incompetent fools needs his last remaining heal. Theobald must be doing <em> something </em>right with their training.</p><p>But he cannot afford to think about unimportant things. Not with new and exceedingly difficult problems to fix. So Lapin straightens the Bulbian crest on his robes, forces an unaffected smirk to his lips, and strolls over to sweet-talk the head of the Imperial Guard. </p><p>Commander Grissini, he finds, is a honorable soldier, a kind Ceresian who seems to be intensely distressed at even the thought of the Candians perishing. He is also the most gullible idiot Lapin has come across in quite some time. </p><p>“This battlefield,” Lapin says loudly as he approaches the Commander,“was <em> greatly </em>touched by the Bulb today. What a miracle!” </p><p>“A miracle indeed. Great Primogen. It is truly an honor to be in the presence of you and your esteemed royal family.” Grissini bows deeply - so low that Lapin is genuinely surprised his head doesn’t fall off and roll into the dirt. “I apologize. My men and I arrived much later than I would have wished.” </p><p>“Yes. Much later than we would have wished, too. I suppose the <em> real </em>miracle of the day is that you got here at all.” </p><p>Grissini looks sufficiently cowed. But despite the insult, Lapin can see his eyes flick nervously from Jet to Ruby, from Liam to Theobald, who are all clustered around Amethar at the edge of the road. The man is a fool, but not that much of a fool. He knows that magic was performed here, and he suspects the House of Rocks. </p><p>“I do not mean to overstep my place, esteemed Primogen Lapin, but the soldiers who arrived before me have expressed...concerns.” Grissini lowers his voice, stepping forward slightly. “They say that some sort of arcane witchcraft, that type commanded by the worst of heretics, obscured the battlefield as they approached. They say it even touched the King himself. My lord...are there other dangers we need to be on the alert for?”</p><p>Lapin frowns at the man, makes his voice icy and emotionless.  “Commander Grissini. You have no need to fear arcane magic here. I, as you know, am a Primogen of the Bulb. I would <em>never </em>allow such heresy anywhere near the royal family.” </p><p>Grissini swallows. “My deepest apologies. I would never imply your powers to be anything less than extraordinary, Primogen. But...I fear that my soldiers - who do mean well, I assure you -”</p><p>“That cloud that your soldiers saw, <em> Commander </em> ? That was a holy miracle from the Bulb above.” Lapin stares Grissini down; the commander visibly winces and takes several steps back towards the nearest tree. “The only power at work here was the piety and devotion of our blessed Bulbian church. And the judgement of the church is all you <em> ever </em>need to fear.” </p><p>“Yes, my lord. My apologies.” Grissini nods fiercely, and Lapin breathes a little easier. The man believes him. They are not lost just yet. “I am relieved to hear that nothing...nefarious was amiss today. I should not have questioned your account.”<br/>
<br/>
“Correct. You should not have. And of course, I would be <em> exceptionally </em> unhappy to hear that your soldiers were implying anything other than what I have told you to be true.” Lapin inclines his head towards the members of the Imperial Guard, who are searching bodies and re-harnessing meeps with militant efficiency. “It would be an unforgivable slight to the royal family - whose souls <em> I </em>safeguard - for people to spread such lies. So you will be sure to convey the truth of the matter to them over the next few days of travel.”</p><p>“To the very best of my capabilities, Primogen,” Grissini says emphatically, and Lapin stalks away without another word. The royal family all reenters the central carriage a few moments later. Lapin waits until they’re inside, showing proper deference, then follows them, carefully readjusting his robes as he sits. </p><p>The soldiers will still talk, of course. Short of some <em> truly </em>magical intervention, there is not a lie under the sun to stomp the gossip out entirely. But hopefully, with Grissini convinced, the rumors of arcane trickery will not reach the Bulbian church - or, at a minimum, they will take much longer to do so. </p><p>It isn’t enough to keep the House of Rocks safe. Not by far. </p><p>But it is all he knows how to do. </p><p>Several hours later, Calroy Cruller and Sir Theobald lean out the left-hand carriage window, completely occupied by the daunting task of coaxing Princess Jet back inside for the fifth or sixth time today. Lapin does not want to risk talk of magic now. Imperial Guardsmen flank their carriage on either side; there’s always a chance that their ears are a little too sharp and they will hear what they should not. And he has seen little over the years to cause him to actively distrust Lord Cruller, but Lapin distrusts <em> everyone </em>until he has an explicit reason not to.</p><p>However, if he tries to broach a conversation with Ruby at the inn tonight, she will surely find some cheap circus trick with which to avoid him. And once they arrive in Comida, such talks <em> cannot </em>happen, regardless of location. The church is always watching.</p><p>So he leans towards Ruby and clears his throat quietly. Earlier, in the clamor of conversation directly after the battle, she had been surprisingly talkative for one who had juggled with death and barely survived. Now, the battle-shock has sunk in a little more. The princess clutches Sour Scratch to her chest, chewing absentmindedly at her lower lip. Her expression is far too neutral to be healthy, and Lapin suspects she is reliving the fight over and over again, stuck in a loop of memory and trauma. An unhealthy practice. Perhaps now is a good time to talk after all. </p><p>“Princess Ruby. If I might speak with you for a moment?”</p><p>Lapin is rewarded with a grin as Ruby shakes her head and snaps out of her daze. She pulls her legs up from the floor to perch cross-legged on the purple cushions of the carriage bench. “What is it, Lapin?” </p><p><em> Chancellor. Chancellor Lapin. They will never learn to use the title, will they?  </em>Lapin swallows down his irritation. “I noticed that Lord Cruller spoke to you privately before we reembarked on our journey. But I did wish to reinforce what he may or may not have told you, regarding your - ah - special talents.”</p><p>“He made it <em> really </em>clear that I shouldn’t use magic in front of people again,” Ruby whispers, matching her volume to his. “But Theo talked to us about our magic lessons as well!” Her face becomes guilty a second later. “Oh. Um. I mean, of course, that Theo told me I <em> couldn’t </em>study magic anymore. That was all I meant.”</p><p>Lapin does not enjoy gambling, but he would wager vast amounts of money that whatever Sir Theobald said to Ruby earlier did not remotely involve her ceasing her studies in the arcane ways. He knows the Lord Commander too well to believe <em> that </em>. </p><p>“Regardless, Princess Ruby, the situation is this. I do not encourage you to use magic, especially once we arrive in Comida. But we cannot afford to be careful all the time.” </p><p>“Theo, I think one of the meeps is trying to eat my pig. Oh, hi - are you talking about magic?” Liam Wilhelmina asks loudly, popping his head through the window next to them. </p><p>“<em>By the Bulb above </em> ,” Lapin yelps, pulling his poisoned dagger from its sheath in his sleeve. He is halfway to slitting the intruder’s throat open before the Count of Freezyburg’s identity registers. The boy has fewer social skills than a fencepost, and a knack for appearing at the most <em> inconvenient </em>times. He certainly should not be coming with them to Comida. </p><p>“Oh, for heaven's sake. Get in here, Liam,” Lapin hisses, sheathing the dagger and hauling the Count of Freezyburg unceremoniously through the window to the bench besides Ruby. Seeds cascade out Liam’s sleeves with a dusty rattle. Lapin waits for an eternally long moment as the boy sheepishly scrambles to pick them up from the carriage floor. </p><p>“As I was saying,” Lapin continues. “You <em> cannot </em> use your arcane magic in Comida. But based on what has happened today, it is more likely than ever we will find ourselves in life-threatening situations soon. And if it is your lives on the line, then you must do <em> everything </em>in your power to escape and stay safe. Liam, this applies to you too. Do you understand me?” </p><p>The heads of the two children bob up and down, though probably more from habit than understanding. Lapin wonders, not for the first time today, why the Sugar Plum Fairy felt vindictive enough to put him in this position. </p><p>“All I mean is - if you must use magic, catch my eye before doing so. If you must use it, just <em>let me know. </em>I will do my level best to try and make you appear Bulbian in some manner. I promise to protect you both, using all the power I have within the church. Do you understand me?” </p><p>Liam seems a little confused, but nods in affirmation. Ruby follows suit, wrapping and unwrapping her bowstring around her hand nervously.</p><p>The Candians fall into a long silence as the sky darkens and the carriages trundle on into the night. Princess Jet reappears, glaring aggressively at everyone, and holds Ruby’s hand, singing her sister to sleep in that strange shared language they made up before they even learned to walk. Liam snores softly, his peppermint pig curled around his neck like a makeshift pillow. King Amethar has fallen asleep with his head leaning on Calroy’s shoulder. Lapin stares at all of them for a long, silent moment, a strange ache growing in his chest. They would love nothing more than to live in peace forever, but the universe wills it otherwise, and it is possibly the most tragic thing he has ever seen.  <em> Every one of them simply wishes to be happy. Every one of them - truly does just deserve to be happy.  </em></p><p>On the other end of the bench, he finds himself acutely aware of Sir Theobald, who remains wide awake, scanning their surroundings for suspicious movement. Swirlwarden is still strapped to the knight’s arm; the shield is lined with gashes and dents where he has taken damage countless times for other people. Prepared to protect, and endlessly <em> good </em>at it. </p><p>The ache in Lapin’s chest burns deeper, a little different this time. <em> He is not only competent, but a truly good person. How strange that the two things can exist so perfectly side by side.  </em></p><p>But all these feelings are, in the end, is distracting. Irrelevant, and <em> distracting </em>. Lapin brushes the thoughts away. He is simply comforted, he decides, by the knowledge that he is not the only one staying awake tonight. </p><p>Lapin clutches his prayer book tightly, flicks the corners of the worn leather against his paw over and over again. He has never been able to stomach prayer, not beyond the necessary pretense of bowing his head and muttering nonsense at chapel services each day. He has only ever been alone with his thoughts. The universe contains nothing worth praying to. </p><p>But though it is not quite prayer, he still finds himself wishing - oh, <em> wishing </em>, how ironic - that he will never have to make good on his promise to the children.</p><p>***</p><p>It is laughable, in some ways, that the Grand Tournament - an intricate, expensive event, every detail years in the making - falls apart in a matter of seconds. One moment, the crowd roars their approval as Sir Theobald, his face focused and his armor bright as the sun, knocks Lady Plumbeline from her meep with a single sweeping lance blow. The next, King Amethar charges from the melee ring, collapses prone in front of his daughters, and begins to gasp fruitlessly for air. </p><p>If Lapin had not lived most of his life one careless word away from death, he might erupt into babbling panic along with the rest of the crowd. Instead, he slinks along the top row of the Bulbian box, trying to get a better view of the chaos in the melee ring. <em>Assess the situation. Decide how to fix it. </em>Behind him, Primogen Alfredi screams obscenities at the Swirlies, wine dripping into her eyes. Pontifex Brassica sits two rows lower, resplendent in her flowing green gown. She appears calm at first, but her fist is clenched and a vein throbs in her neck as she stares, stunned, at the Candian king.</p><p>Ripping his eyes away from the most powerful woman on the continent, Lapin leans precariously far over the railing and studies Amethar’s shaking body. <em> Focus</em>. Brassica is not the immediate concern. Boldness may be required, and <em> fuck </em> the Sugar Plum Fairy for that, but one should not be bold blindly. <em> What is happening to the king? </em></p><p>The noise of the crowd fades to a dull roar. Time to think. There is a lack of visible wounds on Amethar’s body - therefore, he is being poisoned. The effects took hold strongly and suddenly - therefore, the king was not poisoned at the pre-tournament feast. So: someone has pierced Amethar’s armor within the last minute. It could have been a dart, a weapon, a stealthily concealed spell, any number of things. Lapin keeps his own dagger laced with poison for this very reason; poison is powerful yet subtle, the ideal means of killing someone. </p><p>Clever. But not quite clever enough. Amethar has called everyone’s attention to the anomaly by charging out of the ring. The assassins must have hoped that Amethar would drop dead a few moments later, as if he was the victim of a freak sparring accident. They would have relied on the king caring about his sense of honor - remaining in the ring as long as he remained conscious. </p><p>King Amethar the Unfallen, though, is a man of war. War and honor are directly at odds. If Amethar cared about protecting the latter, he would never have survived through the former. </p><p>Healing the king subtly from sixty feet away is <em>not </em> going to be easy. And Lapin is sitting directly in the midst of the entire Bulbian clergy, so that makes his job even <em> more </em>fucking fun. But once again, there are simply no other options. He will have to have faith in the Sugar Plum Fairy. What a horrible thought. </p><p><em> If you can hear me, </em> he says savagely in his mind, <em> make this magic as subtle as possible. I cannot protect them if I am dead!  </em></p><p>He swallows down his emotions, focuses on the words of the spell, and heals the king. “<em>Curatus dulci. Curatus rex.” </em></p><p>Amethar's eyes open, his throat still bobbing for air. Small sparks of purple start to dance around his body, and Lapin’s heart rate jumps. But as quickly as the sugar-plum magic appears, it fades to a golden glow and vanishes entirely. </p><p><em> Thank you! </em>he thinks weakly, and stumbles back towards his seat. The staircase down from the box is swamped in a crowd of priests and paladins, trying to make their way to the melee ring. It feels unlikely that a second attempt to heal the king will be as subtle as the first. Lapin is smart but not strong; he will not be able to force a path through the crowd very quickly. Best to let someone in the clergy try to work their supposed “miracles” first. </p><p>Scravoya Myaso jumps into the ring and bludgeons the king back to unconsciousness with two savage strikes. As she raises her axe for a final hit, rage contorting her face, Theobald sprints across the field, <em>soars </em>through the air, and cleanly intercepts the blow. Lapin finds that he is grinning with pride, a little giddy, as the knight smashes the Meatlander’s axe into the ground and plants himself between Scravoya and the king. </p><p>
  <em> Well, I suppose he can take care of the heroics while I handle the subterfuge. He really is impressive when motivated.  </em>
</p><p>In the melee ring, Ruby and Jet are twin blurs of energy, hovering around their father. Out on the archery field, Liam kneels down and pets Peppermint Preston. The boy, Lapin notes, is once again staying out of danger, simply watching the king. A wise idea. For all that Liam Wilhelmina does not know how the world of court works, he is surprisingly good at navigating the world of combat.  </p><p>No. Wait. </p><p>The count is not watching the king. </p><p>Something else is going on. Preston’s teeth are bared, and the pig snarls at Sir Keradin. Liam’s chest heaves; his eyes dart frantically back and forth, scared, seeking aid. His fingertips, where he touches Preston, are stained with a violet glow - remnants of some subtle spell. </p><p>The count glances up at Lapin desperately and mouths two words. <em> Help me.  </em></p><p>Liam is planning to use magic. They are still in danger somehow. Lapin’s heart sinks, but there is no time to think, to analyze, to make a plan. There is only time to trust. So he will trust. </p><p>Lapin nods sharply. <em> Go.</em> <em>I will protect you.  </em></p><p>Liam stands, loads a bolt into his crossbow, and vaults over the rope of the melee ring in one fluid motion, firing the bolt in midair. Sir Keradin Deeproot cries out in pain as the arrow punctures his hand, which is barely half an inch away from grabbing some object out of his belt. Lapin, head reeling, hears Liam scream something at the paladin - “<em> FUCK YOU, carrot -” </em>but the rest of the words are lost as Annabelle Cheddar sprints from the other side of the ring and tackles Sir Keradin to the ground with a deafening clatter of armor. </p><p><em> Keradin. </em> Of course - the knight would have been close enough to Amethar in the melee ring to poison him without arousing suspicion. This might be connected directly to the Bulbian church. The <em> Bulbian church </em>may want the king dead. </p><p>Well. They are all <em> extremely </em>fucked, if that is the case. </p><p>Princess Ruby reaches into Keradin’s belt and pulls out two watersteel daggers, their blades winking in the sun. Lapin’s stomach roils at the sight. <em> Boldness is required. </em>He needs to get down there immediately.</p><p> “<em>Call off the tournament,” </em>he barks at the Pontifex, not feeling particularly inclined to worry about what the implications of giving a direct order to the most powerful person in Calorum might be. Then he starts to descend from the box, as fast as his joints allow him. The crowd is hard to get through, but Lapin brutally elbows the last few Bulbian priests out of his path and makes it into the melee ring. Liam is kneeling at Amethar’s left, and Jet on Amethar’s right, holding her father’s hand. Tears stream down the heir’s face. Her sword lies discarded and forgotten in the dirt. </p><p>Lapin bends down by the king, and presses two fingers to Amethar’s neck, pretending to take his pulse. Sparks of sugar plum energy - his last remaining healing spell of the day - sink into the man’s skin. But, as he suspected, the king still does not awake. Amethar’s breathing, in fact, is getting shallower. His heartbeat is slowing. </p><p>Water-steel is uniquely deadly to Candians. <em> Horribly </em> so. Lapin’s heals are multi-purpose, but he can only restore health, not remove the underlying cause of the wounds, and the poison is strengthening as it makes its way through Amethar’s system. He would need a healing incantation that is specifically tailored to these poisonous effects. And he has nothing. <em> Nothing. </em>Amethar will be dead in moments. </p><p>Lapin wonders dully how he and Theo can possibly comfort and counsel the twins through the pain of losing their father. He steps back from Amethar’s body, letting the king rest on the ground. The tableau of the Rocks family is blurry; Lapin brushes his paw roughly across his eyes to clear his vision. But the tears fade, he sees Liam take hold of the king’s other massive pop-rocks hand and bow his head, whispering words beneath his breath. Ruby sits distraught on the ground beside a kneeling Sir Theobald, clutching his shoulder for support. It looks for all the world as if the family is praying for their father. </p><p>A crackling sound, crescendoing in volume, echoes off the walls of the tournament arena, silencing the crowd. Amethar’s breastplate glows deep violet. Pure, cloying sweetness stain the air, sugar so strong that Lapin tastes it on his lips and the tip of his tongue. <em> Sugar-plum magic. </em>But not his. </p><p>Another wave of crackling, louder this time. Violet light spills from Amethar’s old war wounds and puddles in the dirt like blood. A tight knot of sugar-plum runes, pulsing with light, glows on the king’s forehead. Lapin sees drops of watersteel congealing in the runes, burning away when they come into contact with the light. Whatever arcane spell Liam is casting is pulling the poison forcibly from Amethar’s veins, negating its chemical makeup. Powerful. Impressive. <em> Absolutely </em>heretical.  </p><p><em> This is the spell he wanted me to conceal. </em>Lapin keeps his head bowed, and curses himself again and again and again for using up his last few pieces of vaguely Bulbian healing magic.</p><p>But, even if he hadn’t, he doubts it would have been useful. This is so clearly arcane that there is no way to disguise it.</p><p>The light dies away, fizzling into the soil below the king. Amethar convulses, chokes, and starts to breathe again, collapsing onto his side; Jet tackles her father in a fierce hug, crying out with joy. </p><p>Lapin feels a tingling on the back of his neck and slowly raises his eyes to the royal box. Pontifex Belizabeth Brassica stares at the royal family, her jaw set and her mouth a thin line. Her face bears a look that Lapin has only ever seen before in the Ravening War. It is the look that soldiers get when they take a prisoner and cut his tongue out to take home as a souvenir. A bone-deep need to make someone <em> suffer</em>.  </p><p>
  <em> We are all going to die.  </em>
</p><p>The only question now is when. </p><p>Lapin takes the next several minutes to performatively work on King Amethar, though Liam’s spell - Protection from Poison, most likely, based on his knowledge of Sugar Plum lore - has already done everything possible to stabilize the king. Sir Keradin is manacled and led away by the Imperial Guard. Amethar should be safe for now, with Liam, the princesses, and the entire Tartguard protecting him, so Lapin falls into line with Lord Cruller, following the Guard as they drag the paladin to the prison cells. </p><p>“Well, we’ve <em> really </em>reinforced all the bad press about Candia today,” Calroy mutters darkly under his breath. “The only question is, how obvious was it that the Count of Freezyburg was the one to pull that little arcane stunt?”</p><p>The procession enters the gates of the Imperial prison. It is a looming monster of a building; its dark stones reek of sweat, mold, and decay. Lapin wrinkles his nose disdainfully, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “I think we may be in luck on that front, my lord.” </p><p>“How so, Chancellor?”</p><p>“Liam did cast the spell while the <em> entire </em>Candian delegation was clustered around the king. And we were somewhat obscured by the crowd. I doubt the Concordant senators and the Pontifex know who, specifically, was responsible.”</p><p>“Did you <em> see </em> the expression on Belizabeth Brassica’s face?” Calroy raises an eyebrow. “That won’t matter. She wants to <em> murder </em> someone. She will <em> find </em>a way to murder someone. She may not have definitive proof yet, but it’s only a matter of time. And if she somehow plants evidence on one of us? I doubt we can build any sort of believable argument that will hold up against her in the courts of the Bulbian church.” </p><p>“You’ve thought through this quite a lot already in the past five minutes,” Lapin notes. Calroy smiles grimly at him. </p><p>“Chancellor Lapin, my job is to be several steps ahead of <em> all </em>of you, in both battle and politics. Unfortunately, it has the regrettable side effect of making me look rather suspicious from time to time.” </p><p>***</p><p>They meet up with Sir Theobald five floors below the ground, in the deepest, darkest part of the Comidian prison complex. Commander Grissini, clearly repressing the events of the day by mustering up as much professionalism as he can, stands at attention outside of Sir Keradin’s cell. As Calroy questions Grissini in fluid Ceresian, Sir Theobald makes a less-than-subtle gesture towards Lapin, one that indicates he wants to talk somewhere more private. </p><p>Lapin follows the knight down the hall and around a corner. Once they are properly out of earshot of Grissini and the Imperial troops, Sir Theobald sits down heavily, bracing his back against one of the walls. After a moment, Lapin sits down beside him. It has been a long day; he is too tired to even pretend to care about the protocol of such things anymore. </p><p>They regard each other for a moment. In years past, this silence would have been filled with clipped barbs and backhanded insults. Petty grievances. Unimportant problems. Theobald’s need to interrogate everything Lapin does. Lapin’s utter disdain of the knight’s rigid adherence to all things dutiful and honorable<em> .  </em></p><p>Now, it is simply silence. And - mutual respect. That is all. </p><p>“I spoke to Liam briefly after the tournament,” Theobald says at last. He begins removing his worn gold gauntlets, unhooking the complicated chains slowly from around his fists. “I can make him a knight as soon as we leave here, if it will help protect him from the church.”</p><p>“I doubt the Pontifex knows that the spell was his.” Lapin leans back against the wall and lets some of the tension drain from his body. They are not out of danger, not at all, but being alone with Theo is the safest he has felt in the past twenty-four hours. “But, Sir Theobald, that is still an exceptional idea.”</p><p>“What do you think she will do?” </p><p>“She will certainly come for <em> someone </em>in our delegation.”</p><p>Theo’s jaw clenches. “Then she will have targets to pick from. I received word, directly before  the tournament, that the Bulbian clergy have gotten word of the fog cloud on the Sucrosi Road.”</p><p>Well. Fuck Commander Grissini’s ability to deal with <em> that </em> situation. Lapin drops his head back against the wall and screws his eyes shut for a moment. He can feel a headache brewing. Of course. Of <em> course </em>there couldn’t be just one disaster to divert today. “What details do they know?” </p><p>“The first thing that the Imperial garrison heard when they arrived,” Theobald says softly, “was the twin princesses yelling to one another about how impressive the fog cloud was. So. It is not unimaginable that the Hierophant Rex will use that to take one or both of them to the scaffold.”</p><p>The Lord Commander’s voice, Lapin notes, is shaking at the ends of his sentences. And he still has not removed his gauntlets; he is rubbing the metal rings between his fingers instead, staring at them vacantly. </p><p>Sir Theobald is scared, then. Scared he will not be able to protect the princesses. It is worse because he is right. Theobald would eagerly die for the royal family - but if the Bulbian clergy come for them with charges of heresy, there will not be a single thing the knight can do. </p><p>“Theo,” he says quietly. “I will <em> not </em>allow the church to hurt them. You know this.” </p><p>“With all due respect, Chancellor. What I <em> know </em>is however much we wish to, neither you nor I can promise that.” </p><p>Theo doesn’t speak with any malice or anger. Instead, all Lapin hears in the knight’s voice is bone-deep weariness and pain. Sprinkle jumps from Theobald’s boot, squeaking softly, and worriedly nuzzles up against the knight’s knee, trying in vain to comfort him. </p><p>
  <em> He is scared. He is helpless. He never planned on being alive to grieve the twins like this.  </em>
</p><p>The realization hurts, physically hurts, like a dagger twisted deep into his heart. </p><p>They sit in silence together for several minutes more, leaning against the dungeon wall. Far above their heads, prison chains clank rhythmically across the floor, as murderers and unlucky men move from one subsection of hell to another. The distant sounds of Calroy and Grissini’s debrief filter back to Lapin’s ears; the flimsy lanterns lining the hallway gutter in the faint breeze. </p><p><em> I cannot let them die, </em>he thinks. <em>I cannot - will not - let them die. </em></p><p>Anger is burning in Lapin’s chest. It is bitter, and it is bloody, and it shines brighter than any Bulb the church might care to invent.</p><p>Normally, he leaves his emotions be. He cannot afford to let feelings drive him forward. Remaining logical is the only safe way to play the game of politics. And if you do not play it safe, you die. And if you die, then what was the point?</p><p>But nothing about their predicament is <em> normal </em> . So, fuck playing the game safely. <em> Fuck </em>that. </p><p>The world will not play safe with the lives of those he loves. </p><p>Belizabeth Brassica wants someone’s head to roll for this? Just let her try. Let her <em> try </em> to pin the arcane magic on the princesses. Or the Count of Freezyburg. Or the king, Lord Cruller, the brave knight sitting beside him - on <em> any </em> of the other Candians. Let her try to arrest them and drag them before the <em> blessed </em> Bulbian priests, the <em> holy </em>Bulbian court that she worships so dearly. </p><p>Lapin has always been a heretic - <em> liar, dissenter, imposter, apostate, </em> only one wrong move away from death. And to survive it, he has absorbed every damned <em> word </em>of the doctrines and laws that Belizabeth Brassica governs by. He has memorized the 680 Catechisms of Saint Arugula. He can cite each letter of the scriptures of The Bulb’s Great Coming. He knows ten times more church doctrine than any real Primogen does - and he will learn ten times more, to save the House of Rocks. </p><p>He will lie, and delay, and deceive. If the church attempts to go to trial, he will exploit every loophole in the law to clear them of their <em> supposed </em>crimes. </p><p>And if none of that works, he will slit Belizabeth Brassica’s throat in the night. Then he will heal her, <em>just </em> enough to watch her slowly bleed to death instead. </p><p>Lapin realizes with a start, that he is in front of Sir Keradin’s cell, Commander Grissini staring at him in confusion. He must have left Sir Theobald, must have gotten to his feet and made his way back down the hallway. He does not even remember doing so.</p><p>It does not matter. He has <em> work </em>to do. </p><p>“Commander. Leave me alone with the prisoner, please.” </p><p>Grissini blusters something about the church’s justice needing to be executed properly. Lapin simply grins at him, a toothy smile, and pulls rank on the poor man. One of the Bulbian clergy’s most <em> trusted </em>officials, after all, is far superior to any petty Imperial guardsman, no matter what his orders are. </p><p><em> Today is not a good day to be in my way, </em> he thinks, as Grissini leaves. <em> There are people I need to protect. </em></p><p>He steps into Keradin Deeproot’s cell, shuts the door behind him, and sets to work. </p><p>***</p><p>The House of Rocks is only an hour into their makeshift war council when the knock comes at the door. To be fair, the efficiency of the council has varied widely<em> . </em> Lapin had high hopes when King Amethar proclaimed them to be at a state of war - but now, the princesses are discussing kindergartens, and the possibility of appointing Liam’s pig as Concordant Emperor, and there isn’t too much he can do with any of <em> that </em>.</p><p>So when Lord Cruller lets the Imperial courier into the room, and the Candian champions depart to see Emperor Uvano, Lapin is grateful for the change in pace. Now he can get back to waiting for Senator Ciabatta. He does not know how much he <em> trusts </em>the Senator, necessarily; however, he trusts that, for the moment, their respective goals align. In the wake of two assassination attempts and an unexpected arrest, that is just about all he can ask for.  </p><p>But the next message at the door is not from Ciabatta. </p><p>It is from the Pontifex. </p><p>Lapin stares blankly at the summons and fights the urge to laugh hysterically. It feels like the setup to a convoluted joke. <em> A heretic walks unarmed and alone into a cathedral of enemies in the middle of the night. How long does it take him to be discovered and killed?  </em></p><p>But refusing the summons - or, heaven forbid, dragging the princesses into it, as Jet suggests - is suicidal. Lapin tells the girls about Senator Ciabatta, explains the secret Illusory Script that they should see on the paper if it is legitimate. Then he pulls his robes tight around him and strides out the door, projecting <em> significantly </em>more confidence than he actually feels. </p><p>He will have to be cautious, that is all. Cautious and careful. Endlessly apologetic that he forced the arrest of a Bulbian miracle worker to happen under the authority of the Concord rather than the church. </p><p>Surely, an apology will be enough. </p><p>***</p><p>“<em>Do you think their belief will stand? </em>” Belizabeth Brassica screams at Lapin, and slaps him across the face. The impact is so sharp that he can feel the skin already starting to bruise. Nonetheless, Lapin stays silent. He even drops to his knee in a show of deference, bowing his head so she cannot see how tightly he grits his teeth. </p><p>Well. It seems an apology will not quite do the trick. </p><p>“But your idiotic choices today are not the real reason I wished to see you,” the Pontifex spits, wheeling around on her heels and striding back towards the cathedral pulpit. “There is a greater problem on our hands. And though I do not <em> like </em>you, Lapin, you are essential to helping me stomp it out.”</p><p>The Cathedral of St. Arugula is an eerie place. Intricate stained-glass windows line each great stone wall and disappear into the vaulted ceiling above. Soft nighttime breezes blow up from the crypts of the Bulbian saints, and the hundreds of candles scattered across the vestibule dance daintily in response. The Altar of the Bulb, an elegantly engraved block of marbled bread, sits in the center of the raised dais. Atop it, the Book of Leaves pulses with holy light. The Pontifex has brought a squadron of twelve Bulbian Knights with her tonight. They stand at attention on either side of the altar, their golden armor reminding Lapin a little too much of Sir Keradin’s. </p><p>It is another joke waiting to be written. <em> What situation would make Belizabeth Brassica summon her soldiers so late at night?  </em></p><p>None of the punchlines feel especially comforting.</p><p>The Pontifex settles into her seat behind the pulpit, glares at him, and points at the steps by her feet. Lapin approaches obediently, kneeling once more. </p><p>“Tell me something, Primogen” Belizabeth Brassica says softly. The malice has died from her voice far too quickly. Her words are honeyed steel. Every syllable is precise and perfect. She is playing a game that Lapin cannot even begin to guess at. “If I ask you to help me solve a problem, a <em> dire </em>problem, you will help me, won’t you?”</p><p>“Of course.” This has all the makings of a trap, but there is no other answer to give. “I will do anything in the service of the great Bulb.” </p><p>“And even if it requires you to act against Candia - against your own homeland - you will still do so?” </p><p>Lapin’s heart sinks. “Yes, Pontifex.” </p><p>“Multiple witnesses, lowborn and common though they are, have confirmed that at the Sucrosi ambush, a veritable <em> cloud </em>of magic obscured the battlefield. And today, during the tournament, evil and arcane heresy was performed over King Amethar as he lay dying.”</p><p>Belizabeth does not even deign to look at him as she talks. Instead, she plays idly with the hem of her gown, calm on the surface - but Lapin can see that the fabric is ripping at the seam. The candle flames reflect in her eyes and they burn with a dark and furious light. She is barely keeping herself composed. </p><p>“Someone in the Candian court is a <em> heretic,</em> Primogen Lapin. A heretic. A liar. A traitor to the Bulb. One of the royal family sins against our faith. I do not yet know which part of the Rocks family it is. But you have spent time with them for years. I think you understand them better than most. I wish for your thoughts on the matter.” </p><p>The wind whistles coldly through the cathedral - around the flames, beneath the pews, along the glass. Lapin shivers.</p><p>
  <em> She wants them dead. She truly wants them dead.  </em>
</p><p>It would have been better, frankly, if he had been summoned here for his own execution. It would have been much, much better. He is not eager to die, but he is prepared. Amethar, Theo, Jet and Ruby and Liam - they are not prepared. They should not <em> have </em>to be prepared. They have so much life left to live. </p><p>And Belizabeth Brassica plans to rip it all away. </p><p>“I suspect the royal princesses, first of all. Jet and Ruby Rocks.” The Pontifex traces patterns idly on the armrest of her chair with one long finger. She looks bored. <em> Bored, </em> damn her. “They were quite overjoyed about the heresy on the Sucrosi Road. Since they regularly flee Castle Candy, it is not too strange to imagine that they fell into the ways of evil while out in the countryside. And to try them before the Bulbian court - now, <em> that </em> would be efficient. After all, they are twins. If we determined the heresy to be unevenly distributed between them, we might only need to execute one, and then the Candian line of succession would not be <em> too </em>unduly disturbed. Bulb knows it’s been mutilated enough already to cause Amethar Rocks to take the throne.” </p><p><em> Oh, you monster. How I wish I could kill you here and now. </em>Lapin shrugs indifferently. “I doubt either Jet or Ruby Rocks is a heretic.” </p><p>“Oh?” The Pontifex raises an eyebrow. “Why is that?”</p><p>Lapin thinks of Jet’s strategies and secrets and unquenchable love for her family. He thinks of Ruby’s tricks and jokes, her boundless joy at the world around her. </p><p>And then he pushes the thoughts away. He must pretend to be as cruel as the Pontifex herself if he is to protect the princesses. </p><p>He cannot save them if he lets himself care. </p><p>“The Rocks sisters are wayward, yes. They are also young, and extremely slow to learn. My weekly reports from Castle Candy clearly show their inattention to their classes. There is no way they could learn complex heretical spells like the ones used over the past few days - they cannot even memorize a single catechism of the Bulb. Put simply, Jet and Ruby are fools. They are <em> stupid </em>, Hierophant Rex. They are too stupid to be heretics of this calibre.”</p><p>“Hmm.” The Pontifex regards him for a moment. “I suppose that assessment counts for something. You have, after all, tutored Jet and Ruby since birth.” </p><p><em> And if you hurt them, it will be the last thing you ever do. </em>Lapin inclines his head and takes the compliment, the rough cathedral floor scraping his knees painfully. “Thank you, my lady.” </p><p>“Sir Theobald, then.” Her lips curl in a sneer. Lapin barely chokes down the growl that rises to his throat at the sound of Theo’s name on her tongue. “There have been rumors for years that the estimable <em> alchemist </em>Lazuli let him learn a few little arcane tricks back in the day. No doubt he has expanded those into full-blown witchcraft; there is no halfway ground when it comes to heresy.” </p><p>There is no time to waste on indulging his fury. One wrong word and someone dies. <em> Focus. Improvise. Disarm her suspicions.  </em></p><p>“A fair point, Pontifex - but I feared the same thing when I first became Chaplain of Castle Candy, and I have spent many years keeping close watch on Sir Theobald’s every move. Lazuli truly did not teach him any magical tricks. In fact, I suspect he was not trustworthy enough to be taught anything important at all.”</p><p>“And you are sure of this, Lapin.” </p><p>“I am <em> positive. </em>”</p><p>“Well, then. That is perplexing, since I doubt that King Amethar himself is the heretic we’re looking for,” the Pontifex says sourly. She reaches below the pulpit and carefully lights a votive candle, mounting it upon the lectern where the Bulbian scriptures are read. “That man is far too idiotic to ever crack open a book.” </p><p>“That is correct, Pontifex.” Lapin bites his tongue till he tastes blood. These are necessary lies. “The king has never been intelligent.”</p><p>“Then we have determined that we cannot suspect the king, his daughters, or their knight. How disappointing.” The Pontifex tilts her head back, steeples her hands in front of her mouth, and thinks. In the stained-glass window behind the pulpit, Lapin watches candlelight pool in the beautiful outline of Saint Arugula’s halo, shadowing the face of the saint. The wind whistles on through the cathedral. The paladins stand motionless, staring at nothing. The corpses in the crypt are as cold and dead as ever. </p><p>Slowly, a predatory smile creeps across the face of Belizabeth Brassica. She coils back into her chair like a serpent, her voice laced with victory.  </p><p>“Of <em> course </em>. The Jawbreaker boy. Liam Wilhelmina is his name, correct?”</p><p>Lapin cannot find the words to respond. He remembers Liam kneeling by the king on the tournament field, whispering healing spells, tears on his cheeks. </p><p>The Count of Freezyburg is so fucking <em> young </em> . Much younger than Lapin was when he first tried arcane magic. But even Lapin knew what he was risking at the time - Liam was <em> born </em> into magic, was never told about the people who would murder him for it one day. <em> He has barely had a chance to live at all.  </em></p><p>“It would have to be him,” the Pontifex muses, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth. She is <em> crowing </em> , practically overjoyed. Lapin’s throat burns with bile. “His mother worships that sugar-plum devil, doesn’t she? Of <em> course </em>he does the same. I hear he was crowned champion of the archery competition earlier today. - well, that’s no matter. The title is a mere formality; it won’t cause any problems.” </p><p>“How wonderful,” Lapin says tightly. And she is <em> right</em>, goddamn her. She is right. Liam is already the son of a rebel, a political prisoner, and a child without a significant title. He may as well have been served to the Bulbian church on a silver platter. </p><p>“Well! Now we can proceed.” The Pontifex makes a curt motion with her hand and the paladins snap to attention. “Primogen Lapin, please make your way to the Candian quarters and arrest Liam Wilhelmina for heresy and witchcraft. At his trial, you will testify that you saw him use his arcane evils to try and heal the king - or to kill him, if you prefer. It really makes no difference <em> what </em>you say; all charges against the boy will be believed.”</p><p>“You wish me to lie in order to condemn him properly, Pontifex?”</p><p>“To see the Bulb’s justice done truly? Yes, Lapin. That is what I <em> wish. </em>” Belizabeth takes two steps down from her chair and bends down to be face to face, tilting his chin up with the tip of her pointer finger. </p><p>“But if the thought of loyally serving your church turns your stomach this much, I will find someone else to testify. All you must do is arrest the Count of Freezyburg tonight. The paladins of the church will make sure you are not resisted.”</p><p>The Bulbian Knights kneel at the base of the altar and press their maces to their chests obediently. Lapin stands, an automatic response. He is dimly aware that he is shaking, though he does not know if it shows. For the first time in years, his mind is blank. There are no plans. No tricks. No ways to solve the problem. </p><p>“Oh, and Primogen? Just to be safe? Please arrest the princesses and Sir Theobald, as well as the Jawbreaker child. I am fairly sure it will still be necessary to judge them.”</p><p>The Pontifex smiles, and Lapin’s heart breaks in half. He <em> feels </em>it happen, as surely as he felt the Sugar Plum Fairy’s teacup shatter between the standing stones only a few days before.</p><p>“We will use the holy Book of Leaves - along with our, ah, other methods of interrogation - to learn from the boy if the princesses or the knight know of his witchcraft. And if he says yes, then they will of course be put on trial too. You do make fair points in the defense of the House of Rocks. Some of them may actually be innocent. But there is no halfway ground when it comes to heresy, and if a single one of them has even <em> supported </em>that child….” </p><p>The Pontifex cups Lapin’s cheek with her hand. She kisses him on the forehead softly. </p><p>“Go forth and do the good work of the Bulb, Primogen Lapin.” </p><p>Then she turns her back and walks away, out towards the great barred doors. Her slow, unhurried footsteps reverberate in Lapin’s body with the force of a tidal wave. </p><p>
  <em> A heretic walks, unarmed and alone, into a cathedral of enemies in the middle of the night.  </em>
</p><p>The punchline of the joke is suddenly crystal clear. </p><p>There are a thousand smart choices, <em> safe </em>choices, on the table before him. It is always possible that he can out-think Belizabeth, argue against her at the trial under some obscure technicality. It is always possible that he can help the House of Rocks escape - though the chances are slim to none they all make it out alive. There are so many ways that Lapin can play the game tonight without being caught. There are so many ways he can survive. </p><p>But there is a bolder choice to make. And Lapin will <em> not </em>gamble with the lives of those he loves.</p><p>He will simply give the Pontifex a better heretic to kill. </p><p>“I may have miscommunicated just now, Hierophant Rex.” </p><p>Belizabeth stops halfway down the aisle and turns. Her eyes narrow, slowly. </p><p>“About <em> what </em>, Primogen Lapin?’</p><p>“I did not lie to you about how foolish the House of Rocks is. That part was true. After all - they have been tricked for years by the actual apostate in their midst.” </p><p>A wicked thrill of joy thrums through Lapin. Finally, he can disrespect the fucking Pontifex to her face. </p><p>“But when it comes to foolishness, Belizabeth? They are <em> nothing </em>compared to you.”</p><p>“<em>Lapin </em> -”</p><p>“<em>Saccharum, divus, sanctus </em>,” Lapin intones, and traces a shimmering spiral in the air before him. His lips glow with the forbidden words, and the Pontifex’s eyes widen, but Lapin is faster than her, he is smarter than her, and she has realized the truth far too late. </p><p>A high-pitched whine crackles through the air, filling the vestibule from top to bottom. Every stained-glass window in the room shatters at once with an earsplitting <em> crash. </em>Thousands of glass shards spray into the air. The golden candle flames turn deepest violet and flare up towards the ceiling, illuminating the dark cathedral as brightly as high noon. </p><p>Dozens of lavender sugar-runes are glowing in the air around Lapin. Eldritch energy surges through his bones, flowing around his body in a full-force gale. The blinding light he radiates has caused the paladins behind him to drop their weapons and claw desperately at their eyes, wailing in pain. The Pontifex is screaming at the top of her lungs. </p><p>But all Lapin can hear is a voice in his ear - a jagged, sweet voice, like bells and broken teacups. </p><p><em> This is your choice, then?  </em>the Sugar Plum Fairy whispers. <em> You would rob me of my third wish so greedily? </em></p><p>Lapin turns his back on the Pontifex and points at the great Altar of the Bulb, standing solid and silent in the center of the dais. Eldritch energy swirls and builds around him as the high-pitched whine of magic crescendos louder and louder. Glass shards are lacerating the paladins, breaking the wooden pews to pieces. </p><p>
  <em> You asked me to protect the House of Rocks, yes? My death will protect them well enough.  </em>
</p><p>In the back of his mind, the Sugar Plum Fairy sighs.  </p><p>
  <em> Do what you wish, Chancellor. You always have been exceptionally foolish.  </em>
</p><p>Lapin snaps his fingers at the altar. The holy structure collapses in on itself with a crash, melting into an ocean of sickly-sweet syrup. It drips down the altar steps, coating the carpet in cloying purple, and puddles around the feet of Belizabeth Brassica as she stands gasping in the center of the church, soaking through the hem of her elaborate robe. </p><p>Slowly, the bright violet light dims and fades. The Cathedral of St. Arugula looks as if it was hit by a hurricane. Every piece of furniture and ornamentation is broken and battered. Glass shards and molten sugar leech into the cracks of the stone floor. The air is filled with a dizzying scent of sweetness, giving even Lapin a throbbing headache. </p><p>Not a single person in all of Calorum could deny that what took place here was arcane magic. It is flashy. It is showy. It is worthy of an immediate death sentence. </p><p>But most importantly, from the expression on the Pontifex’s face, it seems to have wiped the House of Rocks from her mind <em> entirely</em>. </p><p>In the long silence as she gapes at the destruction, Lapin smirks. </p><p>“Is that enough proof of heresy for you?”</p><p>Then he rips the Bulbian crest from his robes and tosses it at her feet. The holy symbol is swallowed instantly by a sea of sugar-plum liquid, the glowing gold of the Bulb drowning beneath the bright and jaunty colors of Candia. </p><p>Something bashes the back of his head with an ugly thud. Lapin chokes, staggers forward as black spots dance across his vision. He is roughly forced to his knees on the dais, his arms pinned behind his back. Manacles are clasped tightly around his wrists. The mace cracks into his skull a second time, and the room spins and tilts crazily, makes him gasp for air. </p><p>The Pontifex, her teeth bared in a snarl, slowly approaches him. She reaches into her sleeve, unsheathing a dagger made of crystal-clear water, and Lapin cannot help but smile at the parallel. </p><p>With a flick of her wrist, she slashes the watersteel blade across Lapin’s face from jaw to temple. Skin rips open; blood sprays violently into his eyes. Something breaks with an ugly <em> snap. </em></p><p>Then the pain surges through his body, and it is so total and unyielding that he faints on the spot. </p><p>***</p><p>The Bulbian church, when asked, is <em> strongly </em>against the practice of torturing political or religious prisoners.  </p><p>Unfortunately, the Bulbian church, when asked, lies about most things. </p><p>Lapin does not know how long they keep him in the crypts, dimly swimming in and out of consciousness. But the water-steel dagger, its poison eating away at his veins, has, as a side effect, robbed him of his voice. </p><p>So as the paladins and the Pontifex set to work, he feels a terrible sense of triumph. No matter what they do, at <em> least </em>they do not get the satisfaction of hearing him scream. </p><p>***</p><p>Several eternities later, a soft tapping sound is trying to wake him up. </p><p>Lapin floats in a void of blackness, deep within his mind, and ignores the sound as long as he can. But the tapping continues, infuriatingly steady and simple. It drills into Lapin’s brain, prods and pokes, begs him to come out and see what all the fuss is about. </p><p><em> Why can’t you let me sleep?  </em>he growls towards the world in general. <em> I’m too tired for this fuckery. I’ve had enough. Can’t you just be kind enough to let me sleep?  </em></p><p>The tapping continues, because of <em> course </em>it does. The universe has never pretended to be kind.</p><p>Lapin resigns himself to the inevitable and wakes up. His eyelids are crusted shut with streaks of dried blood, but he blinks them away, wincing as the motion makes his head spin. The cell he lies in is made of rough grey stone reeking of decay; it is horrifyingly small, not even the size of a Bulbian confession booth. To his left, a heavy door is set into the wall. To his right, weak fractals of morning light leak into the room through a small barred window. </p><p><em> Ah. </em>He must be in one of the Penance Chambers of St. Arugula - stone cells located on the very topmost floor of the cathedral. Traditionally, the most devout members of the Bulbian clergy would fast for days in these chambers, hoping to commune with the Bulb’s great light. </p><p><em> The Pontifex has a sense of humor, </em>Lapin realizes, and grins darkly at the thought. </p><p>The tapping sound, he now sees, is coming from the window. A butterscotch hawk, its head cocked inquisitively to one side, hops back and forth across the windowsill, tapping at the iron bars with its beak. </p><p>Lapin stands - his wrists are still cuffed, the manacles cinched so tight that he doubts he could perform somatic spell components even if he wanted to - and reaches through the bars, letting Yak nuzzle him comfortingly. He feels the corners of his mouth twitch up despite himself. The bird has extremely soft feathers, and a pleasingly round bone structure. He can see how Ruby has grown so attached to it in such a short period of time</p><p>As he pets Yak gingerly, the bird’s eyes flash purple and Lapin feels a soft thrum of magic from somewhere far away. </p><p><em> Chancellor Lapin!  </em>Princess Ruby Rocks yelps in the back of his mind. <em> Oh my god, I can’t believe I found you! Are you all right?  </em></p><p>It really is a shame, Lapin thinks, that he has had precious few opportunities to complete a full academic lesson with the younger princess. Given a few years, she could rival Lazuli in skill and Caramelinda in statecraft. And she will certainly surpass Lapin, in ingenuity, cleverness, and sheer <em> apostasy.</em> The girl is doing complex arcane magic at eighteen years old - and must be hiding on the very doorstep of the cathedral as she does it, considering the range of these spells. </p><p><em> Princess Ruby, I recognize that I have rarely praised your past academic progress. However, casting Message through your familiar is a </em> truly <em> impressive application of your magic.  </em></p><p>Ruby’s response comes back almost before he can draw breath. <em> Jet and I went with Senator Ciabatta last night like you told us to. But when we got back, you hadn’t returned - and Calroy went to look for you -  and Theo and Pops tried to find you, but they wouldn’t let them through the cathedral door. Are you......are you…? </em></p><p><em> I am not “all right”, Princess. But that is understandable, given my current circumstances. </em> It occurs to Lapin that the princess, looking through Yak’s eyes, can more than likely see the marks of his torture. He finishes stroking the hawk and turns his back to the window, leaning against the windowsill so the wounds are a little less visible. <em> What’s going on out there? </em></p><p>
  <em> Emperor Uvano died in the night. The Pontifex told every delegation in the Grand Tournament to come to the Cathedral this afternoon for the Imperial appointment.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But she also told everyone that the Primogen of Candia has proven himself to be a traitor and a heretic. She says she plans to hold your trial this morning and then enact your sentence, even before the new Emperor is proclaimed... </em>
</p><p>Lapin spares a glance down towards the Square of St. Arugula. He is expecting it, he steels himself for the sight - but it still sends a shudder through his body to see the unmistakable shape of a scaffold, being constructed directly before the cathedral doors. </p><p>He will be dying there soon. He will be dead before the end of the day.  </p><p><em> What happened last night?  </em>Ruby whispers, oblivious to his thoughts. <em> Did you try to kill the Pontifex somehow? Jet thinks you tried to kill her. Jet actually told me to tell you she thinks it’s EXTREMELY cool you tried to kill her.  </em></p><p>It hurts, significantly more than Lapin thought it would, to realize he will not live to see Princess Jet inherit the throne of Candia. <em> I did not attempt to kill the Pontifex, Princess Ruby, </em> he responds instead, <em> but heresy is exponentially worse than murder to the Bulbian church. Also, tell your sister that I’ve been cool for longer than she’s been alive.  </em></p><p>He hears Ruby laugh a little on the other end of the message spell.  </p><p>
  <em> I’ll let her know. But you still haven’t told me - what happened last night?  </em>
</p><p>For a long moment, Lapin leans against the windowsill and wonders what to say. </p><p><em> The Pontifex summoned me for my thoughts on whom in our delegation was a heretic, </em> he tells Ruby finally. <em> She suspected that one of you had healed the king, and distracted the bandits on the Sucrosi Road. So, I simply showed Belizabeth that none of you needed to be arrested, and the only heretic she should care about was standing right in front of her.  </em></p><p>Ruby does not respond. She does not respond for such a long time, in fact, that Lapin starts to worry that someone has found her hiding place. </p><p><em> Lapin… </em> she finally messages, her voice shaking around the edges. <em> Lapin, they’re going to kill you, aren’t they?  </em></p><p>Footsteps, heavy and armored, are making their way down the hallway towards his penance chamber. Time for the trial. Time to go - and he can’t be caught communicating with Ruby’s falcon, or she will be placed right back into the very danger he is trying to save her from. </p><p><em> I believe I must say farewell, Princess. Take care of yourself. </em> Lapin makes sure he sounds as calm and collected as possible, though his paws are trembling on the sill. None of the House of Rocks need to know how much he fears this. They do not need to be distracted by his death. <em> If you could give my formal resignation to your father, and my….my best wishes, to Sir Theobald, I would greatly appreciate the favor.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Your aunts would be extraordinarily proud of you and your sister, Ruby. As am I.  </em>
</p><p>He does not wait for a response, but shoos Yak from the windowsill. The hawk takes flight into the bright morning sky as heavy metal bolts slide back, and the cell door swings open, slowly scraping along the floor. Six paladins stand at attention in the hallway, identical and stone-faced. They watch with blank eyes and spiked maces, clearly waiting for him to move. </p><p>“The church really <em> does </em>assemble all of you from a kit, doesn’t it?” Lapin says derisively, and walks out of the cell to face his fate. </p><p>***</p><p>The trial, surprisingly, still takes place in the cathedral, despite - or perhaps <em> due to </em> - its conspicuous lack of both stained-glass windows and a holy altar.  </p><p>Lapin does not speak a single word for the entire five hours. What would be the point? He does not exactly have grounds on which to defend himself, considering he wrecked the holiest religious site in Calorum and openly confessed to heresy before the Pontifex of the Church. </p><p>From a more practical perspective, though, he does not wish to provoke unnecessary questions. If he tries to stand up for himself, it will make the church clergy who line the pews want to know more about his time with the Rocks family. After all, the purpose of this entire affair is to make himself as clear and unforgivable a heretic as possible. That way, no one bothers to question if, perhaps, he is not the only one. </p><p>And truly? Lapin is <em> bored. </em>This trial is pomp and circumstance, nothing more. He knows it. Belizabeth knows it. Everyone in the room knows it. His confession has been given. His punishment is laid out in church law. The scriptures are clear. </p><p>But - even though it’s fucking tedious - he still has to play along with the great game of charades. He has spent his whole life acting, and now that he has been found out at last, he cannot even drop the act. There’s some truly delicious irony in that. </p><p><em> The Bulb shines bright on scapegoats, </em>he thinks, and bites back a somewhat feverish laugh. </p><p>After what seems like an eternity, the clergy has talked, the scriptures have been read, everything useless that can be done has been done. The Pontifex prepares to formally announce his sentence to the gathered clergy. Her shoes click against the slick cathedral floor as she ascends the gleaming gold steps to the pulpit. Someone has scrubbed them clean of sugar since last night, probably while he was being tortured in the crypts below. </p><p>Instead of her emerald robes, Lapin realizes, Belizabeth Brassica has chosen to wear a silver papal headdress and a long black gown. The slash across his face throbs painfully; bile rises in his throat. She is wearing <em> Bulbian mourning colors, </em> and he knows perfectly well why. The colors are never worn to memorialize the death of clergy members. Instead, they are used in church services to symbolize the state of sin that exists in the world. The Pontifex is expressing her goddamn <em> sympathy </em>for his heretical soul. </p><p>
  <em> I hope she dies alone. I hope she dies in pain. I hope it takes an extremely long time.  </em>
</p><p>Not a single person dares to breathe as Belizabeth surveys the hushed cathedral. For what feels like forever, the only sound is the wind, whistling through the broken holes where the windows once were.</p><p>“In the name of the great Bulb,” she finally pronounces, “I command the <em> former </em>Primogen Lapin Cadbury to stand, so he may receive the final verdict and sentence for his crimes.”</p><p>All eyes in the cathedral turn to Lapin - and he cannot move. </p><p>He is afraid. </p><p>He is <em> afraid.  </em></p><p>He hates himself for it - but it is the real reason he has not spoken today. He should be braver, should be better, stoic, stronger. But why bother lying to yourself when you will be dead within the hour? </p><p>He is a <em> coward</em>. He has been afraid of this moment his entire life. He is so afraid that he cannot speak or think or breathe. He is so afraid that he might just die on the scaffold from fright before the church can wrap the noose around his neck. The fear pools in his bones and fills his mind with blackness. It wraps its cold fingers around his heart and <em> squeezes.  </em></p><p>It would be so easy to beg the Sugar Plum Fairy for aid and run. All he wants to do is <em> run</em>. </p><p>Lapin closes his eyes. </p><p>He sees Ruby and Jet clambering out of his classroom window, laughing as he tries in vain to stop them. Sir Theobald, yelling to him on the Sucrosi Road - <em> rivalries aside, Chancellor, rivalries aside, let’s make sure no one dies. </em>Amethar, staying up all night four times a year by his sisters’ statues to commemorate each time their birthdays would have passed, had they survived the war. Liam, perched on the battlements of Castle Candy, cuddling Preston absentmindedly as he sorts through a new crop of seeds. </p><p>“Lapin Cadbury, <em> stand,” </em>the Pontifex hisses. </p><p>Lapin takes a deep breath, leans back in his seat, and winks at her instead.  </p><p>“<em>Lapin Cadbury!</em>” If her voice had been icy before, now it is venomous. “You have been found guilty of the deepest and most heinous heresies against the Bulbian church. You have endangered the souls of those within your care. You have aided the Hungry One and other false gods in their dark corruption of our world. We have no mercy for those who hate the light so much. Therefore, I condemn you to be executed, hung by the neck until dead. May the Bulb have pity upon your soul. This sentence is to be carried out <em> immediately</em>.” </p><p>As two paladins approach to escort him out of the cathedral, Lapin stares down the Pontifex as long as he can. He refuses to look away - to show her respect, or deference, or a single shred of his fear. </p><p><em> I regret nothing, </em> he tells her with his eyes. <em> If I had known how this was going to end, I would still do it all over again.  </em></p><p>***</p><p>The Square of St. Arugula was almost empty this morning, but as Lapin is led out to the scaffold and marched up the steps, he sees that it is now filled corner to corner with people. Meatlanders and Fructerans stand side by side with members of the church and members of the guard. Imperial Senators, their togas slipping off them in the heat, watch with their retinues in tow. </p><p>Everyone must be <em> very </em>interested in how the church went from running the tournament to executing a Primogen within a twenty-four hour period. And the Pontifex must feel like she’s pushing her luck to even execute one person today, since there’s no sign of a second noose for Primogen Alfredi. Though it’s probably more likely that the Pontifex was in on Alfredi’s plan - will she use Lapin’s heresy to render the treason charges null and void?</p><p><em> Well, it doesn’t matter now</em>, Lapin decides, as he’s maneuvered roughly to stand atop the trapdoor. He will have to content himself with never knowing the truth. </p><p>As the Pontifex, her smile cold and brittle, ascends the scaffold steps behind him, Lapin scans the crowd for anyone familiar. He does not have to search for long. King Amethar and Sir Theobald stand sixty feet from the stage, with Lord Cruller a few paces behind them. The king’s eyes are fixed on the stone ground of the square, his face set in a stormy frown. Calroy is clearly trying to maintain an airy composure, but for once, the man’s facade has cracked, and it is clear as day he would prefer to be anywhere but here. </p><p>Sir Theobald, though, stares steadily at Lapin. There isn’t any sadness in his face, but there isn’t any joy, either. He simply meets Lapin’s eyes, a silent promise of companionship, and Lapin understands, with an ache, that this is a parting gift. Someone in the crowd, someone who knows him well, will not look away as he dies - will bear witness to what is happening and understand its true weight. </p><p><em> Very kind of you, Theo. </em>In another lifetime, perhaps they would have not been rivals.</p><p>Lapin rips his thoughts from the speculation and turns away from the Candians for the last time. It is good that neither the princesses nor Liam Wilhelmina seem to have attended the execution with their family, he notes. They are children. They deserve to stay children a little longer. </p><p>The Pontifex takes the noose, dangling from its wooden beam above, forces it roughly over Lapin’s head, and pulls it tight around his neck. As one of the paladins reads the formal Bulbian sentence to the crowd, she leans in, close enough that only he can hear her words. </p><p>“You are going to the maw of the Hungry One, heretic. And you will burn there <em> forever </em>.” </p><p>“No doubt you’ll join me soon enough,” Lapin whispers, and Belizabeth spits in his face. She steps away and walks to the lever that triggers the trapdoor. It is instinctual to watch her, to want to know exactly when he will drop, but Lapin tears his eyes away and turns them instead to the sunset sky. Soon, night will fall, and violet clouds skid happily across the bay in anticipation. </p><p><em> I hope this is bold enough for you, </em> he tells the Sugar Plum Fairy, and for once, though she does not respond, he cannot find it in his heart to hate her. <em> Best of luck with your next servant. </em></p><p>Belizabeth Brassica wraps her hand around the lever and pulls. </p><p>The trapdoor does not open. </p><p>A murmur rises up from the crowd. The fear that Lapin has been pushing down jolts back up into his body, causing him to shake. He glances desperately back at Theo. The knight’s eyes are still fixed on him - but now they glow pure white, and Lapin remembers dimly that that only happens when Theobald is communicating with his familiar. </p><p>A delicate wisp of lavender mist dances through the space in front of Lapin. Then, a second wisp. A third. </p><p>With a <em> whoosh, </em>the crowd vanishes from view, as the air around the scaffold fills with twinkling violet fog. </p><p>Lapin feels the noose loosen. The tail end of the rope around his neck detaches from its wooden beam overhead, falling down onto the stage beside him with a dull <em> thump </em>. He looks upwards and just barely has time to see a spectral mage hand by the top of the scaffold, holding a large pair of scissors. Then the trapdoor below him finally opens, and he tumbles down into the darkness with a cry of shock.</p><p>An instant later, he hits the ground, the loose rope trailing behind him. He is beneath the scaffold, a space open on all four sides but still barely tall enough to crouch in. Outside, he can hear the growing sounds of the panicked crowd and the outraged bellows of Belizabeth Brassica. Everything is dark and cloudy; the fog is drifting beneath the stage, already starting to obscure the area. A bone or two has definitely snapped in his ankle from the fall, and for a moment, Lapin feels terror and pain threaten to overwhelm him.</p><p>Then, Peppermint Preston trots out from behind one of the posts that supports the stage, snout upturned and eyes bright in the darkness. Lapin stares at the pig and wonders if he is, perhaps, dying after all. Maybe his mind is concocting some <em> absurd </em>fever dream to make the process easier. </p><p>A message pings through his thoughts. He recognizes the feel of the cantrip’s magic - sweet and strong, licorice and arcane. </p><p><em>Follow Preston!  </em>Ruby yells at him. And then the message ends, even as Lapin grasps fruitlessly for words, any words, to ask her <em>why </em>and <em>how </em>and <em>what are you doing, why are you saving me?</em></p><p>Peppermint Preston snuffles at Lapin’s paws and runs out into the square, in the general direction of the cathedral. Lapin follows awkwardly, emerging into a square completely clouded with fog and the confused chatter of the crowd. Whatever Princess Ruby has done has covered a good half of the space, making it entirely impossible to navigate. But Preston seems to know where he is going, and Lapin - his hands still bound, noose flying free around his neck - sprints after the cheerful pig as if his life depends on it. </p><p>Because apparently, it <em> does.  </em></p><p>They do not head into the cathedral. Rather, Preston weaves a path between the lines of confused paladins, then darts into one of the dozens of crooked alleyways around the Square of St. Arugula. Lapin can only follow, hoping against hope that no one is watching from the windows of the stores or the brightly painted inns. The fog cloud thins as he dashes from street to street, moving further and further from the center of the city. Peppermint Preston bounds tirelessly before him, hooves clattering on the cobblestones.</p><p>Finally, Preston skids to a stop in front of a small shop, its windows dark and long since boarded up. Paint chips fall from a faded sign above the door: <em> Forbidden Fruit: All The Comidian Souvenirs You’ll Ever Need.  </em></p><p>“Here?” Lapin hisses at the pig, and Peppermint Preston nudges the door open with his nose in response. Noose scraping roughly against his windpipe, Lapin stumbles inside. The door swings shut behind him and Preston with a dull bang, bouncing a couple times before it clicks closed for good. </p><p>Lapin slowly sinks to the floor. He can feel his lungs seize, the adrenaline of the run catching up to him in a crash, and he decides that the best way to keep from entirely blacking out is probably to examine his surroundings. Clearly, the shop went out of business months ago. Inches of dust cover jars of rainbow paint and shelves of concerningly realistic dolls. Preston is sniffing at something behind the counter, occasionally running out to look at Lapin with his head cocked sideways. It seems like the pig is waiting for his attention. </p><p>He is lightheaded and dizzy, Lapin finds. Some of his torture wounds have opened up again; blood is dripping slowly from them, making small splatter marks on the dusty floor. <em> Would it be entirely unprofessional and wrong if I simply sat here and cried? </em></p><p>But there is no world in which he has that kind of time to waste. So instead, Lapin swears viciously under his breath, expending every curse word he can think of and making up a few new ones on the spot, and follows Preston behind the service counter. </p><p>At first, nothing seems amiss. But - there is a faded purple rug on the floor below the register. Its edges are worn and white, torn from constant use. Lapin pushes the rug aside, loops his paw through the brass ring set into the floor beneath, pulls upwards. </p><p>There is a slow creak as a trapdoor opens, a breath of stale air escaping from the basement below. For a minute, all Lapin sees within is darkness. </p><p>Then, Liam Wilhelmina’s head pops up through the hole in the floor, his peppermint smile bright and innocent as ever. </p><p>“Hi, Lapin! You wanna come on down? Did you bring my pig with you?”</p><p>***</p><p>The Count of Freezyburg, Lapin finds, is a surprisingly pleasant person to spend time with. Though, to be fair, once you’ve spent a day hiding together in a mold-filled basement, <em> anyone </em>might start to seem like pleasant company. </p><p>As night falls, Liam pulls a tuft of some strange green plant from his pocket. He gingerly threads it into a chunk of wax, then lights the makeshift candle with a match. The room glows gold and silver. Little prisms of light bounce off of the stacks of dusty crates which fill it, barely leaving enough space for the two of them to sit. Through the small sliver of window at the top of the basement wall, the stars are twinkling merrily above the bay, insensible of the day’s events. </p><p>Lapin rubs at his wrists and neck gingerly, wincing at the feel of the oozing scars. It had taken Liam at least twenty minutes to figure out how to get him out of the noose and manacles, if not more. The boy had even insisted on <em> bandaging </em>him, despite Lapin’s insistence that he could heal himself enough to abate the pain. </p><p>Peppermint Preston squeals and trots across the room, threading back and forth through Lapin’s legs as he stares out the window, rubbing at his wounds. Lapin finds himself begrudgingly bending down to pet the poor animal. The pig is...<em> extraordinarily </em> soft. And his gently snuffling nose is <em> adorable</em>. <em> And, </em>neither of these qualities stopped him from saving Lapin’s life. </p><p>Maybe he should reconsider his feelings on familiars. Theo, Liam, and Ruby might actually be onto something. </p><p>“Remind me, Liam, of what, exactly, Sir Theobald told you to do?” he says, turning to the boy. </p><p>“Well. Um.” Liam wrings his hands nervously and props his feet up on the table. “So. What Theo told me was that, um, I had to hide with you for the rest of the day, and right before sunset, Lord Calroy would come to take us somewhere else! It was a little - well, Theo was hard to understand, ‘cause he seemed <em> really </em>upset. And normally I’m not good at telling what people are feeling, but it was right before he went to see you get killed, so I’m pretty sure that was why he was so upset. But yeah. We stay here and Calroy comes for us. I think those were the big things.” </p><p>Lapin sits down on one of the crates, trying to figure out what could have delayed Lord Cruller so long. He will process this information about Theo in the future. For now, he must make sure that they <em> have </em>a future. “Well, it’s night now. And no one has arrived, so something has happened.”</p><p>“I could send Preston outside to look around,” Liam offers hesitantly. “We’re not that far from the Candian quarters.” </p><p>“An excellent idea.” </p><p>Peppermint Preston bounces over to Liam, squealing happily as the count scratches his head and mumbles instructions. A moment later, Liam hoists the pig out through the trapdoor, carefully pressing a kiss to his snout on the way. “Stay safe, Preston! I love you.”</p><p>In the back of his mind, Lapin wonders just how bad Liam’s brothers actually <em> were </em>to him. The count is happy with so little - yet, whatever happened in his household for most of his youth was bad enough to stamp out even that relentless spark of joy. It must have been hell.</p><p>“I’m gonna, um, try to see through Preston’s eyes now,” Liam announces. “I won’t be able to see or hear things back here, though. That part’s always really scary. Um...is it weird if I come and sit by you while I do this, Lapin? It just feels like it would be safer. But I’ve never really done this around people before, maybe that’s a big social no-no.” </p><p>Lapin can’t help but grin a little at that. “Liam, I promise that sitting near someone you know is not a major transgression. I will be here protecting you the entire time, I swear. You don’t need to be afraid.”</p><p>Liam smiles nervously, readjusts his ranger’s cap, and comes over to sit cross-legged on the crate beside Lapin, closing his eyes. When he opens them, they glow pure purple, and the count stares vacantly at the opposite wall, dead to the world for the time being. The seconds stretch out into minutes, time ticking endlessly away. Outside, the last few stars spring jauntily into the sky.</p><p>Lapin’s thoughts drift, unbidden, to what would have happened had Liam been the one accused of heresy today. How lost and lonely the boy would have felt - standing trial so far from home, caught in the midst of a political machine he had never cared a bit about. How mercilessly the Pontifex would have looked down on the peppermint count, calling him <em> sinner, criminal, devil-worshipper, apostate </em>with every word. She would have given Liam the exact same sentence. She would have sent him to the exact same scaffold.</p><p>How <em> senseless </em> . How senseless and stupid that the Pontifex and her ilk would have as easily hung a child as a convicted Primogen. Evil incarnate, every last one of them. <em> They always speak of their deference to their great Bulb - yet they are so, so sure they have the power to condemn us all. What kind of logic is that? </em></p><p>He realizes that his throat is swelling up, and forces down the tears. </p><p>Liam convulses suddenly, collapsing off of the crate with a gasp. Lapin is at his side at an instant. The purple aura fades from the count’s eyes, replaced with pure panic. </p><p>“Oh god. Lapin, there’s - there’s fighting everywhere. The city is on fire. Jet saw Preston, and she was talking, but then there was a crash, and she ran to go help Ruby, and -”</p><p>“Slow down. Slow down, Liam. There’s fighting in the Candian quarters?”</p><p>“Jet’s hurt. She’s bleeding so <em> much</em>,” Liam whispers, tears trickling down his cheeks. Lapin’s mind quickly supplies a thousand bloody images of the princess’s corpse - hacked to pieces on the street, stabbed through the throat by an assassin’s dagger, skull smashed in by the butt of a sword. But he cannot let himself imagine it. <em> Focus. </em> Jet is hurt, but not dead. So, he will find her and heal her. He will heal all of them, somehow. <em> No one </em> is dying tonight. </p><p>“Liam, I’m right here. But I need you to talk to me, understand? What did Jet say?”</p><p>“They weren’t in the Candian quarters. Everyone was in the main street, trying to get to the docks.” Liam clutches Lapin’s hand so tightly it hurts, biting his lip to speak through the tears. “Jet saw Preston. She could tell I was looking through his eyes, so she talked to me. She says....at the execution, after you’d disappeared, the - the Pontifex accused Amethar of helping you escape. Amethar denied it, but she, she made him swear on a holy book. His sister’s book? But instead of asking about you, she asked him who his <em> wife </em>was?” </p><p><em> The girl he loved in the Dairy Islands. </em> It is a closely guarded secret that the king had had a prior...dalliance, as it were, during the Ravening War. But the details had always been vague. Lapin had never been entirely sure it was true in the first place, and it wasn’t exactly something he had been <em> eager </em> to ask the king about. Oh, <em> fuck </em>Belizabeth Brassica and her evil, scheming mind. </p><p>“Jet says they’ve kicked Amethar out of the Bulbian church. He’s not King of Candia anymore. And Jet’s apparently a bastard. Ruby too. And <em> everyone’s </em> trying to arrest them, so they’re trying to get to the Dairy Island ships in the harbor,” Liam finishes in a rush. “And she looks so <em> hurt </em> - there’s a huge gash in her neck. I think someone tried to cut her head off or something!” </p><p>Lapin is already on his feet, hauling Liam to his feet with one hand and grabbing the makeshift candle from the table in the other. He bends down to look the count in the eye, trying to be insistent yet calm. Time is running out, but panic dooms them all. </p><p>“We need to get to the harbor as fast as possible. Can you and Preston navigate us there?” </p><p>“I - I -” Liam nods shakily after a moment. “Yeah. I can find my way around places. I’m good at that. I can do this.” </p><p>“<em>Exactly</em>. Of course you can.” </p><p>Liam gulps and straightens the straps of his ranger pack, his face already shifting to the singular focus that he uses when locating seeds in the most barren Candian forests. As the count pushes the trapdoor open with a squeal of rusty hinges, Lapin spares a precious second to retreat deep into his own mind. </p><p><em> I survived my execution, surprisingly enough, </em> he says to the Sugar Plum Fairy. <em> And I know better than to expect any kind of favor from you. But if anyone dies, I will hold you personally responsible, so you had better work some </em> fucking <em> miracles for the Rocks family tonight.  </em></p><p><em> And how exactly will you “hold me responsible”, Chancellor?  </em>a sickly-sweet voice whispers, making his head ache violently.   </p><p><em> I’ll find a way! </em>Lapin growls. He hears the Sugar Plum Fairy laughing at him - amused and unconcerned, <em> damn </em>her - as he pulls himself clumsily out through the trapdoor and follows Liam into the night. </p><p>***</p><p>It takes twenty-five agonizing minutes to reach the harbor. Comida is in flames. People run through the streets. Buildings either burn or play host to Imperial forces, who are searching for the royal family and any stray Tartguard they can find. The Cathedral of St. Arugula glows hideously in the distance, and Lapin cannot resist making a crude gesture in its direction. <em> Oh, how I hope the Pontifex burns within.  </em></p><p>Finally, they reach a rickety staircase at the edge of the city. Liam and Preston lead him down to sea level and out onto the Comidian beach. Yellow Dairy Island vessels stretch across the sand, the cola of the bay lapping steadily at their keels. People are running here as well, but Lapin cannot tell for the life of him who is a friend and who is an enemy. </p><p>At least, not until Jet Rocks hurtles through the air and crashes full-force into Liam, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Lapin pulls the children to their feet, reaches for his magic, and heals Jet on instinct, before he can even see if anything is wrong. A second later, as the purple sparks sink in, he gets a proper look at the gaping wound cut deep into the side of her neck. Someone most <em> certainly </em>tried to behead her. The thought makes Lapin see red. </p><p>“Oh wow, you actually made it here? Thanks for the heal,” Jet pants, her sword drawn and shield raised as she glances wildly around. “I’ll have a scar to match Ruby’s now - we’ll be even <em> more </em>connected, that’s amazing!” </p><p>“Princess Jet, you are <em> much too cheerful during combat,” </em>Lapin says dazedly, as the rest of the Candians appear out of the night to join them. They have clearly been through hell in the past few hours. The king is limping badly, bludgeoned and bleeding. Whole segments of Theo’s armor have been entirely ripped off his body. Ruby looks to be the least injured of the group, but even she sports a seeping arrow wound in her shoulder. </p><p>“We need to fuckin’ <em> go </em>” Amethar growls at them all.. “Chancellor, you take the kids and go, okay? Calroy and Annabelle Cheddar are at the helm of the closest ship.” </p><p>“Dad, there aren’t even enemies to fight at the moment!” Ruby yells. “Just <em> come on </em>-” </p><p>There is a shout from the top of the staircase, and the whole group turns to look up towards the town. A battalion of Imperial guards, Commander Grissini at the front, stand looking down at them, their swords drawn and gleaming in the firelight. </p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>, Ruby. I love you, but you need to stop saying things like that, because they <em> always </em>turn out badly.” Amethar glances back towards the ship, then puts a hand on Sir Theobald’s shoulder. “This is the time to escape, everyone. You can get to the ship in time, but if you don’t have a few extra moments to get properly out into the water, you’ll be boarded before you’ve begun.”</p><p>There is no circumstance in which the king and Sir Theobald survive if they remain behind on the beach. That is <em>unacceptable. </em>Lapin’s throat is hoarse from fog and smoke and screaming, but he fights through the pain to mutter incantations, familiar ones. “<em>Cantus dulcis. Cantus fortis.” </em>They are far too close to safety to give up now. </p><p>Purple sugar-plum energy starts to burn around his paw, not even bothering to disguise itself. He looks to Amethar, who watches him with wide eyes. “My king, if I may?” </p><p>“I mean, we’re not exactly being <em> subtle </em>about it anymore, Lapin. So sure, blast them to hell!” </p><p>“Don’t hurt Grissini, he helped you escape!” Jet yells urgently, starting to back towards the ship with her sister in tow.  “I convinced him to place Sprinkle below the scaffold so we could jam the trapdoor!”</p><p>“Noted, Princess.” Lapin decides he would prefer not to know what, exactly, Jet did in order to convince the Commander, and narrows his eyes at the battalion. The soldiers have just started to descend the staircase. His eldritch blast cannot hit them all at once, but if he prevents them from descending at <em> all… </em></p><p>He snaps his fingers. The blast of magic streaks away from him and hits the staircase, which erupts into brilliant violet flames. Grissini and his battalion stumble backwards, shielding their eyes from the light and heat, and the House of Rocks takes off running as if on cue. Amethar and Jet sprint in the front, their swords drawn, while Ruby and Liam shoot their bows at the soldiers above. Theo, his shield raised as always, brings up the rear directly behind Lapin. </p><p>The ship in question is a swift three-sail clipper, with <em> Stangenkäse </em>painted on the side in bold yellow-and-blue letters. Everyone scrambles aboard. Lapin reaches for Theo’s hand and pulls him onto the deck just in time, as Calroy, sprinting across the length of the boat, yanks down on a rope and raises the gangplank. Annabelle Cheddar stands laughing at the helm, clearly in her element, already maneuvering the ship smoothly out into the bay. </p><p>“Liam, get Jet below deck and bandage her neck,” Amethar shouts. The wide-eyed count obeys, slinging Jet’s arm over his shoulder even as the heir frowns at her father. “Everyone else, stay up here but keep your heads <em> down</em>; we may still be within range of their archers.”</p><p>Lapin is more than happy to obey, and finds his way unsteadily towards the stern of the ship. There is a small raised ledge right at the back, above the rudder, and he collapses onto it, puts his head on his knees, reminds himself in vain to breathe. The bay is dark but the city blazes like a beacon. Even from this distance, the heat and stink of the flames is tangible. The Imperial battalion has diminished to golden specks at the top of the burning staircase, still trying fruitlessly to find a way to the shore. </p><p>
  <em> How did this happen?  </em>
</p><p>He was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be dead by now, dead and forgotten, the Rocks family safe for a little while longer. </p><p>But instead, he is very much alive. And they have almost certainly started a war with the rest of Calorum, and everything has fallen the fuck apart - and yet, as Lapin stares at the rest of the people on the boat, somehow, he cannot find it in his heart to be angry with them. </p><p>These brilliant people. These foolish, infuriating, <em> wonderful </em>people. </p><p>There is a soft shuffle of feet on the planks of the ship as Princess Ruby sits down beside him. Her circus outfit is burned, ripped, and covered in sugary magic residue. A nasty gash cuts across the bridge of her nose - if it had been half an inch to the left, her eye would be gone entirely. The locket she shares with Jet glows red around her neck as she twangs the string of Sour Scratch between her thumb and pointer finger, waiting silently for Lapin to catch his breath. </p><p>Somehow, despite the amount of death she must have seen tonight, Ruby’s smile is still there. A little sadder and wearier, yes, but still bright. It baffles Lapin, how all three of the children are just so damn <em> hopeful. </em>The universe does not reward that. </p><p>But - </p><p>But today, the children saved his life. Amethar and Theo and Calroy too - they all saved his life, saved him entirely to their own detriment. And yet, they have not been punished for their naivety, for their hope. </p><p>Instead, it burns just bright as ever. </p><p>“You should <em> not </em>have tried to rescue me, Princess,” he says finally. The ship is now well on its way towards the center of the bay, the sounds of the battle starting to fade. Above them, the stars shimmer with brilliant fire. “That was an exceedingly foolish thing to do.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Ruby looks at him incredulously. “Of <em> course </em> we came to rescue you! You were going to die! That Pontifex is just so fucking evil; I cannot believe her. We tried to sneak into your trial - Jet was really excited to be a defense attorney, and she would have been <em> great </em>at it - but it was closed to everyone but the clergy, and I couldn’t pick the locks in time.”</p><p>Despite himself, Lapin cannot help but smile at the thought of Jet Rocks trying to talk down Belizabeth Brassica with nothing but a wish and a prayer on her side. </p><p>“That does not change the fact that you endangered yourselves,” he replies nonetheless. “You may have had your Saints’ Day, Princess Ruby, but you are still young. You have <em> far </em>more to do with your life than risk it for me.”</p><p>“Look, you can’t get mad at me about that.” Ruby points defensively to where King Amethar stands at the bow of the shift, speaking softly with Sir Theobald. Lapin’s heart speeds up a little at the sight. “The second that they heard that the Pontifex had gotten you, Theo and Pops sat down and started figuring out a rescue mission. We were going to work with Liam to get you out anyway, of course, with or without them - but they came up with a plan in no time, so we told them that if they <em> really </em> wanted to keep us safe, they had to let us in on it.” </p><p>“That is…” He stares at the dark waves of the sea as they lap at the ship’s keel, unsure exactly what to say. <em> They were prepared to come for me, no questions asked. </em> “I had hoped that…” </p><p>“You were willing to die for us,” Ruby says quietly, beginning to restring her bow. “Just because we can’t stand your history lessons doesn’t mean we won’t risk the same for you.”  </p><p>He had hoped, Lapin realizes, that the royal family would make the safe choice. That he could make it <em> for </em>them, and they would respond accordingly. </p><p>But the House of Rocks, for better and for worse, are terrible politicians. They are rarely pragmatic; they don’t use cunning and cleverness to make it through the world. They never play it safe. Instead, they simply care - care to a <em> fault </em> , even when it hurts them. They care, and they <em> love, </em>and somehow, they trust their love will be enough. </p><p>Perhaps that has rubbed off on him. Perhaps that is why his chest always aches. </p><p>Perhaps that is why he loves them so dearly in return. </p><p>“We are <em> all </em>going to die,” Lapin mutters, the warning coming out more automatically than anything else. But Ruby just grins and shakes her head. </p><p>“Uh-uh. I have unlimited arrows, <em> and </em> I just learned how to cartwheel without using my hands. That Belizabeth Brassica might have said that Pops isn’t the king of Candia any more, but we’ll see about that. Liam can find <em> any </em> seed, Jet is the greatest warrior in the world, and Theo - well, I’m very confused about how he’s so cool now, but he really is <em> extremely </em>cool now.”</p><p><em>“</em>He’s always been cool,” Lapin mumbles, more to himself than to Ruby Rocks. </p><p>“Somehow, not a single one of the Tartsguard died in the battle at the cathedral, so we’ve got reinforcements all ready to go when we return to the castle. And, of course, we got you back alive,” Ruby finishes. “So I promise, Lapin...we’re all going to be okay.”</p><p>The <em> Stangenkäse </em> glides smoothly out into the night, heading towards Candia. Heading <em> home </em>.</p><p>Lapin looks at the princess and her family, at the flames behind them and the stars above them. At the wounds on his body and the way they’ve been bandaged. </p><p>He may have been too quick to judge during the battle on the Sucrosi Road. </p><p>Perhaps the universe is kinder than he thought. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m gonna be thinking about this chocolate bunny for the rest of my days, aren’t I?</p><p>So, here’s the fun story about this piece of writing: I wrote the entire first draft prior to episode 6 of A Crown of Candy. And, I wrote it specifically because I feared Lapin wasn’t going to make it through. Consequently, I really just want y’all to know that almost all the things in this fic which now hit very differently - the cathedral scene, Peppermint Preston’s role, that final conversation between Lapin and Ruby - were honest-to-god drafted two days before the episode went live. I don’t know if this makes me a little prophetic or a bit too obsessed, but I’ll gladly accept either label.  </p><p>Many thanks for reading, and a big shout-out all around to the Dimension 20 fandom for being chock-full of wonderful creators! I’m <i>incredibly</i> excited to both write and read more fic for this show as it progresses.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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